


Nightmares and Comfort

by Sarie_Fairy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cancer Arc, F/M, Kissing, Love, NSFW, Redux II, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarie_Fairy/pseuds/Sarie_Fairy
Summary: From the Cliche/Trope Prompt List: 6. Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 75





	Nightmares and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> *This is not new. I am rearranging some of my stories in AO3.

He started sleeping over only a few days into her first round of chemo. On the lounge. The first night he rubbed her back and went to lie down to sleep next to her, in case she needed him in the night. She wouldn’t let him. Told him, sensibly, that she was poisonous. Her sweat and vomit were poison.

Her mom stayed the first few days. Scully confided in Mulder that she’d found it difficult. She had to hold herself together for her mom, as much as her mom did for her, she couldn’t shake the responsibility she felt, couldn’t let go and be the child.

So, Mulder took over. Drove her to and from appointments, and anything … everything else. Maggie, less hurt, by her replacement being Mulder.

Scully’s reluctance at letting Mulder ‘do’ for her eventually slipped away. He held her hair back while she was sick, brought her food, cleaned up after her. Ran her bath and sat in with her, until the bubbles would dissipate and threatened to reveal too much. He talked or didn’t talk. Didn’t treat her like she was broken, when they were in the field.

Between rounds, he stayed at home and the nightmares came. One nightmare actually. Over and again.

He was on his dark green, worn-in, leather sofa, but in his childhood lounge room. Scully was beside him saying something he couldn’t hear, though he knew was about a forgettable X file. Terror crept up his body like a pair of icy hands, pinning him down. He could move his eyes only. To look. See her. See her floating, lifeless, away from him. Hanging in the air. Disappearing. She was disappearing. He could yell and he could scream but not get up. Not do a damn thing to help her, to save her, to follow her.

Then he would wake to his own fear laced cries, to sweat and an empty room. An empty feeling still gripping at him. Alone.

He didn’t dream at her place, because he never fell into actual sleep. He would rest and then pace and listen at her bedroom door. Crack it open, to see her blankets rise and fall, or answer her noises and rub her back as the chemicals, and what was meant to keep her from wasting away, would violently expel from her body.

Three rounds and she was smaller and angrier and getting further away…

But she still felt like his. She still listened to him and let the doctor do a crazy thing with her flesh and a tiny piece of metal.

And then it was over.

She was in remission.

Mulder knew the feeling. It was that same he felt when he was convinced, for a moment, that Samantha was found. Alive. Back from the dead.

Scully was back from the dead and his legs didn’t hold him.

And he cried in the hospital hallway.

He slept at her place, the night he took her home. The night she lived. The best night of his whole life. He slept beside her, from exhaustion and relief. On top of the comforter. Rubbed her back until her breathing slowed down. Then he drifted after her.

He slept, and the nightmare came.

And the screams came.

“Scuuulay!”

And the fear.

And the tears.

And then … Scully.

Hovering over him. Hand at his forehead and on his carotid artery.

When his eyes flew open and focused on her, she pulled his head to her chest, his shoulder on to her lap. He sobbed and she kissed his temple.

“It’s okay Mulder, I’m here. It’s okay.”

He panted.

“Scully. I thought you were dead.” He wiped at his cheek. “I thought I was going to lose you too.”

His feverish shaking and fear still there as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Clung to her as he pressed his lips to the fabric over her abdomen.

She rocked him and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’m okay, Mulder.” She said softly into his hair. “I’m going to be okay.”

“Don’t you ever leave me, Scully. Promise me you won’t leave me.” His frightened words were muffled into her pyjama top.

She cradled his head in her hands. Lent down and joined her lips to his forehead. Held them there and slowed her breath.

Mulder’s breathing matched pace with hers.

He turned in her lap, faced her. He reached up and wiped her cheek. Tear stained too, and adoring.

“I wish I could promise you that, Mulder.”

His bottom lip trembled, and she bent down and pressed her lips there. Stilled the vibrations of his fears. He pushed up, into her kiss. Their lips parted and his hand reached up and cradled the back of her head, pulled her down to him.

Months of desperation washed over him, and he kissed her deeply, pushed his tongue into her mouth and she responded. Licked at him as her lips slid across his.

They kissed and she moved to lay beside him on the bed. Lips and tongues and hands explored.

And then she told him, “I want you inside me, Mulder. I want to feel as alive as the doctor told me that I am.”

He was gentle with her. She was still so thin. The disease had consumed her curves leaving fragile edges behind.

They remove their own clothes, without taking their eyes off one another. His gaze swept her body.

“So beautiful,” he breathed.

She smiled gently and told him to, “lie back.” 

She climbed onto him. Ran her centre over his hardness. Rubbed until he was coated in her slick. Then she reached between them and took him in her hand. Guided him. Slowly at the tip and then she slipped down, taking all of him inside, all at once.

They held hands and looks. And it was slow and dream-like. And lovely and real.

Her hips swayed and his hands found her breasts, her nipples. They rocked together. Undulated one another back from the terrible place that had been. Different sides of the same deadly chasm. 

His thumb swept between them, traced her swollen lips in search of her hard bud. It throbbed and bloomed and she rolled her hips faster in time. She fell on top of his chest and he held her down and thrust up into her, over and again. Pumping them both back to life.

She came, and she cried.

Her walls squeezed around him. Gripped and tore at something deep. He let go and held on, cried too through the release and relief. 

“I promise I will never choose to leave you, Mulder,” she whispered.

He wrapped her up in his arms and his future.

There was sweat, without poison, and naked skin, and caresses and kisses and well-intentioned promised words … and hope.


End file.
